maybe hell is empty
by piperreynas
Summary: the one percy jackson is a crime writer, and annabeth chase is a detective that also sort of hates him. percy/annabeth, thalia, nico, grover.
1. don't let the bedbugs bite

Percy's been signing books for the past week. Sure, book tours get old after a while, the flashy smiles and the showboating and the alcohol, but usually never this quickly. He thinks he might have carpal tunnel.

The girl in front of him is _beautiful_ but as always, that doesn't seem to make a difference. (The girl could be damn Helen of Troy and it wouldn't make a difference). He gives her a smile and another flourish and the grin she gives him would bring any other man to his knees, but he feels…nothing. He's _bored_. He puts the drink down, the alcohol turning stale in his mouth.

She walks off, turning back around once to give him a suggestive wink and he responds with a polite wave like he's so used to now. Satisfied the girl turns back and struts back to her table with a spring in her step, giggling. He lets his smile collapse into a defeated sigh.

Tyson frowns. "Still bored, brother?" he asks, bangs hanging over his eyes so very much like his own. Percy studies him for a minute and wonders how his little brother looks so much _older_ than him, wonders why he even brought a seventeen year old to a nightclub anyway.

He musters up a smile. "No," he says softly, reaches for the glass. "I'm never bored," he says louder. It sounds like he's convincing himself.

* * *

Annabeth looks at the body in front of her with a frown. "How long has this one been sitting here?" she asks dispassionately as ever.

The M.E. looks at her with a disapproving expression. "Lividity says 10 hours. I'll have to get her back to the morgue," he says.

"Her?"

"Tamara Smith, 23," the M.E. says, picking up an evidence bag and handing it to her. Annabeth sets it aside in favor of the locket resting on the poor girl's chest. "Poor thing," he says, _tsk_ ing.

She looks at the faces inside and when she sees the teddy bear dangling from the little Tamara Smith's fingers, she wants to say _poor thing_ or maybe _what a shame._ But emotions don't solve a case; pragmatic, rational behavior does. So she doesn't say any of those things.

Instead she says, "Load her up," and watches unfeelingly as they load her body onto the stretcher, imagines the girl on the slab and exhales slowly. She's got work to do.

* * *

Percy goes home exhausted, collapses into his high thread count sheets and bouncy mattress, but he knows sleep won't come as easy to him as it used to before. He stares at the ceiling anyway, closes his eyes after a while because maybe this once, he will sleep. (He doesn't).

* * *

Nico comes to her the next morning with his coffee cup in hand in hand and Grover trailing after him. "We found something," he says handing her a file and dutifully ignoring the circles under her eyes, the slump of her shoulders.

She opens the file, raises her eyebrows. "Good work, boys."

Nico smirks. "As if you'd get anything less," he says smugly. She clocks him on the shoulder, but not as hard as she would've. He ignores that too.

No one offers her a coffee before she leaves like they used to. No one says anything to her.

* * *

When the cop barges in, Percy is staring at the blank screen on his laptop trying to punch out a chapter, a page even at this point because Rachel's been on his ass all month about his new book.

She breaks his door unnecessarily, and he thinks that maybe she's like him, waiting for something to _happen_ already. He stands up, stares at her boldly, not accusatory, not anything really, just curious. She takes the pause to arrest him, flashing her badge.

"Detective Annabeth Chase, NYPD," she says in a clear, almost regal voice, and the rest fades out. He doesn't even listen to her as she reads him his rights, because he's too busy looking at _her_ and when she turns her steely-eyed gaze on him, he thinks _finally_.

The sunlight turns her hair to gold on their way out. He isn't bored at all.

* * *

The writer doesn't look anything like his author pictures. On the glossy book jackets, he looks _rich_. Smarmy and charming and suave. Untouchable. Now, with the fluorescent lights turning his tan skin pale, he looks _interesting._ Human. Real.

She opens the file and pushes it across the desk. He stares in morbid fascination. "Interesting. Serial killer?" he asks, looking up at her with a gleam in his eyes.

She ignores him. "Tamara Smith was killed the same way the girl in your first book is. Do you know her?"

He tilts his head. "She's a billionaire's kid. Other than that, I've never seen her before."

She narrows her eyes at him, and he stares at her unabashedly. She looks away. "Think about it. You're facing murder charges Mr. Jackson," she says, pounding the table.

"No, I'm not, Detective," he says, leaning back in his chair. "If you had anything on me beside the book, you would have charged me and I'd have a lawyer sitting next to me. I'm a writer, not an idiot."

Annabeth gives him a pensive stare. "Where were you ten hours ago?"

Jackson yawns. "A book signing. You can ask my agent to confirm."

Annabeth places the entire file on the desk and taps it. "Look at it anyway. I'll be back in a few hours."

He gives her a devilish smirk, putting his arms behind his head. "Can't wait."

* * *

Nico, Grover and Thalia are waiting for her outside the box with raised eyebrows.

She greets them with a smile, addressing Thalia first. "Hey, why weren't you at the crime scene today?"

"Beside the point," Thalia says dismissively. "Who was that?" She jerks a thumb at the window.

"Perseus Jackson, 23, rich author." Annabeth slaps his DMV photo on the murder board. "He's the _murder suspect_ ," she says pointedly turning toward Thalia.

"Why? The guy wouldn't be dumb enough to pull something from his own books," Nico says. "Speaking of which, what was that in there?"

She blinks. "What was what?" All three of them roll their eyes at her. "See you in a bit," she says ignoring the skeptical looks they shoot her.

* * *

notes: it's been a while hasn't it…*cringes* whoops. read review please.

[EDIT; 8/29] here's the revamp i was talking about…i'll get to the other chapters this week. i know some of y'all have already read this before, but it would help so much if you could review. there's always something i could fix with my fics.


	2. sleep with one eye open

She takes the long route Halycon Inc. and walks in imposingly, because that's the only way you get anything done around people like Oliver Smith. She waves her badge absentmindedly at the front clerk repeating "Detective Annabeth Chase, NYPD" and waiting for the assistant to get her.

When she closes her eyes, she sees Jackson's green eyes burned into the back of her eyelids. She opens her eyes quickly and shakes it off. The attendant is a nubile woman dressed in form-fitting clothing carrying a tablet. When she smiles at Annabeth it looks fake; plastic. Annabeth frowns and tries to shake off the cold.

* * *

Percy sits in the box for four hours, and stares at the picture the entire time, suppressing the bile as it crawls its way up his throat. He tries to remember his first book, and instead he remembers the way felt when he was writing it. He sighs.

He keeps glancing at the shawl and the flowers and the slashes on the girl's hands. He stares. He tries to balance his Sharpie on his nose. He waits.

* * *

Annabeth milks the guy for everything he's got- financial records, security tapes. _The whole shebang_ , she thinks wistfully staring at her mother's wedding ring. She brings it all back to the precinct in boxes and helps the boys sort through it for five hours before she decides she might as well relieve Jackson. She catalogues it and puts it away in the basement.

When she comes back up, Grover is standing in front of the elevator with a bemused look. She smiles. "Is it Juniper?" She knows his answer even before he nods; it's always about Juniper.

"She told me she wanted to talk, but she wasn't angry or sad, so..." He frowns at his phone.

Annabeth shakes her head, knocks his shoulder lightly with her fist. "I'm sure the two of you will figure it out," she says as she walks past him and heads towards the box.

Nico stops her before she goes inside. "What's going on with you?" he asks concernedly. "Is it him?" He nods at the one-way window.

She rolls her eyes. "Nothing's going on with me," she says firmly. She steps inside before he can say anything else. She sees him step in to watch just before she closes the door behind her.

* * *

Percy takes his time looking at the photo before turning to her, but he greets her when he hears the door open. "Detective."

He can hear her frown when she says, "How did you know it was me?"

He smiles and avoids the question. "There's something off about your crime scene," he says tapping absentmindedly. "This shawl should be yellow and these cuts are executed far more haphazardly than they should be. Your killer clearly isn't concerned with details. Or maybe he's trying to send a message," he says tilting his head. His eyes go cross-eyed as he stares at the girl. He waits for the detective to press him.

"It isn't my crime scene."

"Whatever you say, Detective."

The detective looks like she wants to protest at first. The adrenaline thrums in his veins; he is _itching_ for a fight. He waits, expectantly. She lets it go scoffing and saying instead, "Are you sure?"

He sighs in disappointment, gives her a sardonic look. "I wrote the damn thing, Detective. But I'd be happy to let you interrogate me, just to make sure. For investigative purposes, of course." He grins suggestively, watching her face. He hasn't been this interested in anyone in a long time.

The detective gives him a strange smile. He grins wider. "You're free to go," she says amusement coloring her words. Her smile turns to a smirk as she waves at the person on the other side of the window and collects her files.

He knows she's trying to get rid of him so he calls out, "It would be nice to see you again Detective," just to keep her on her toes. He leans back in his chair while he waits for her answer.

She turns around and her smirk grows eve wider as if to say _damn straight._ "I know," she says slipping out. At this point, he's beaming.

The officer that unlocks his cuffs gives him a _look_ but he doesn't notice because he's too busy recollecting the exact shade of steel that's in her eyes.

* * *

Thalia grabs Annabeth's arm on her way to the coffee room and drags her into her office instead, pushing a body back into the cubby and sitting on a slab, gesturing for her to do the same. "Don't worry, I Lysol-ed it," she says reassuringly, pulling a candy bar from her pocket.

"That's not a word, Thals," she says sitting anyway.

"I just made it a word," she says with a grin. Annabeth rolls her eyes. Thalia continues. "Now," she says her grin growing wider. "Tell me what the hell was going on in there? And we both know it was definitely not nothing, so you can drop that act."

"I…don't know what you're talking about," she says dropping her gaze to the marble tiles to avoid her friend's knowing look.

Thalia throws her arms into the air. "Where do we even start? He was staring at you the entire time, and you didn't say a word. He flirted with you too, and if it were anyone else, you would've fucking castrated them and you know it!" she says all in one breath. "What is going on?"

She peers at her through the curtain of hair she formed while Thalia was ranting and sigh, looking down again. "I'm not sure," you admit, quietly even though there isn't anyone else in the room.

Thalia grins sitting up taller. "That's okay."

Annabeth peers at her quizzically. "Why?"

"Because I do!"

Annabeth snorts. "Pray tell, O Wise One."

"You like him," she declares triumphantly.

Annabeth nearly falls off the slab. "No, I don't, wha-"

"You think he's handsome and suave and charming and sexy," Thalia continues.

"Thalia _shut up, dammit_!"

"Is that acceptance then?" Thalia looks at her expectantly.

"Sure," she says distractedly still trying to think of way to shut her up. Then she realizes her mistake. "Wait, NO absolutely not! I was distracted-" she protests.

Thalia smirks gleefully and runs out of the room.

Annabeth groans into her hands. _Kill me now_ she thinks.

* * *

notes: as an apology for abandoning this story for almost half a year, you get…two whole chapters!  
[EDIT; 8/29] okay never mind, i'm gonna do like three chapters in one go


	3. watch your shadow, darlin'

After the interrogation with Jackson, Annabeth looks into the cuts with the M.E. and gets Nico and Grover to track down the distributers and manufacturers. She goes through Tamara Smith's financials and phone records one more time to make sure they haven't missed anything, and while they wait for the will to come in, and she gets the family and company financials too because she's nothing if not thorough.

While she's combing through the call logs for anything out of the ordinary, someone pulls up a chair in front of her desk. She looks up expecting Thalia, maybe Nico, and instead she sees Jackson, the _writer_.

She raises her eyebrow just a little, reaches up for a lock of hair until she remembers that she cut it short and turns back to her monitor. "What are you doing here, Jackson," she asks, coldly, taking a sip of coffee and crossing her toes. ( _Please, let him leave_ , she prays.)

He smiles at her childishly. "What a warm welcome from the Twelfth Precinct! I'll make sure to tell the mayor on our weekly date."

She almost chokes. "Date?"

"Date," he clarifies, grinning wider now that he has her attention. "Outing. Trip-" he waves his hand theatrically, but that's how he does everything- loudly, exaggeratedly "-Is that what it's called when you go to the local bookstores to admire my ruggedly handsome face hanging on all the posters?"

She snorts, rolls her eyes (albeit a little amused). "I assume there will be less of them, now that you've killed off Rick Riordan."

"Ooh!" he says, leaning forward in his chair, grinning _even wider_ to the point where she isn't sure that's physically possible to grin like that without splitting your face in half. "It appears I have a fan."

She snorts again. "Why are you here?"

"That would be the mayor's fault," Captain Brunner says.

(Her captain doesn't show up. He manifests, at the worst possible time. She glares at the two of them in lieu of words. Both are unfazed, although for entirely different reasons- Brunner because he's dealt with this for the past five years, and Jackson…well, as a general rule, no one really knows what's going on with Jackson, not even the paparazzi. She admits disgruntledly that even she has to give him props for that.)

"Mr. Jackson cut a deal with the mayor. He is to shadow you on all of your cases, until he sees fit."

Annabeth stands up slowly. "Can we talk, Captain? Privately?" she asks, although the way she says it doesn't include room for negotiation.

Brunner just smiles good-naturedly like always, and opens the door to his office. (She'd like to think he obliges because she's one of the best cops in the precinct, if not the area). Annabeth stalks past her desk fuming, not even bothering to look at Jackson, who gives her a two fingered salute despite the cold shoulder he gets in return.

Annabeth starts going at Brunner as soon as he closes the door. She knows this is rude, especially considering this is her boss, but in her experience it's the only way to get results. Plus she's known Brunner since she was little. "Why does he need to _tail_ us? We have enough people on our ass about this case, we really don't need another. Especially not a-a rich entitled asshole _writer_!"

"I understand, but Jackson promised he wouldn't get in the way," Brunner says placatingly.

Annabeth nearly throws something. "He _promised_? Have you _met_ the guy?" she yells incredulously. She is very sure people outside can hear her, but at this point she doesn't give a damn.

Brunner loses it then. "The _mayor himself_ made this happen. I will not disobey direct orders for the sake of your contentment regardless of the fact that you are a good cop."

Annabeth laughs bitterly. "Needs of the bureaucracy, right?" she says, smiling darkly. Brunner doesn't say anything. She shakes her head disgustedly and stalks out the same way she came in, heading to the break room to get herself a stronger coffee. She's going to need it if she has to work with this idiot.

* * *

Percy doesn't know what he ever did to set her off like that, but he isn't complaining. This side of her is…interesting. Like a hurricane; calm and cool next to raging winds and harsh rains. He walks up to her as she exits, coffee in hand, already stuttering an apology. She stops him with a single hand.

"If you're going to shadow us, we need ground rules," she begins, raising a challenging eyebrow.

He smirks, leaning against the wall like the archetypal "handsome-male-leaning-against-a-wall". He can work with this. He waves a hand at her as if to say, _go on_.

The detective licks her lips, his gaze dropping for a bit as she does so. She notices and gives him a glare that _almost_ makes him blanch. "First," she says crisply, "do _not_ get in our way. You do exactly as we say. No more, no less. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am," he says, flirtatiously.

"Second, stop checking me out." She gives him one last glare before turning on her heel and striding back to her monitors. (He's noticed a few things about her in the short time he's known her. Annabeth Chase doesn't _walk_. She _strides_ and _stalks_ but she never walks). He grins wider. He can definitely work with this.

* * *

The first thing Nico and Grover do when they get back is lecture Jackson privately. She doesn't know exactly what they say, but she knows the basic gist: "If you make a move on Annabeth, we rip you apart. Got it?" topped off with a disarmingly cheerful smile.

Judging by the looks on their faces as they exit the hallway they dragged Jackson down, it didn't go that well. She rolls her eyes. She's working with _children_ she swears. They glare at Jackson the entire time Annabeth is briefing him. Or rather, Nico glares; Grover can't glare at anyone. Jackson stares at the back of her head instead, not even acknowledging their presence.

Normally, Annabeth appreciates her friends' overprotectiveness, but when Thalia comes in to "check on her" she throws her arms up in exasperation, ignoring Jackson's amused look.

Annabeth tries to reason with her ("Thals, it's fine, I'm just briefing him for Zeus' sake, _chill_ -") but she knows that it's a futile attempt as soon as Thalia walks in wearing her "kick ass" combat boots. "Jackson," she calls, walking over with her head up, her shoulders back, and _damn_ if she doesn't look totally _badass_ right now.

Jackson, to his credit, takes it in stride. "Grace," he says, tipping his head in greeting. She has no idea how they know each other, but as long as it doesn't result in an all-out brawl, she's fine with it.

"You'd better not hurt my people, you hear?" she says, making it more of an order than a question.

"You tell your baby brother the same, you hear?" he says, with an edge.

Thalia gives him a once-over, smacks her gum once, then walks out, shoving a piece of paper into Annabeth's hand. She takes both with a stifled groan, instead turning her eyes heavenward in a desperate plea. She looks down, shoving away Nico and Grover when they try to read too. ("He's _hot_! Nice catch, kiddo!" She wants to die.)

"Well, Detective," Jackson begins, teasingly, the same infuriating glimmer in his eyes, "aren't you going to apologize for your friend's rude, brash behavior?" The boys stand up straighter, watching with poorly concealed interest.

Annabeth gives him a simpering smile. She turns to Nico and Grover, who aren't even trying to hold back their amusement anymore. "Still got the family financial records?" They nod. "Good." She looks back at Jackson. "You still have to pull your weight around here, consultant or not, so, you can look through the financials of the entire family. Unless you have a problem with that," she says raising an eyebrow triumphantly, gesturing to the three boxes on her desk.

"Not at all," he says, answering her with a wide smirk (is that all he does?) and stepping closer. She steps back quickly, teeth bared wide in a snarl. _Back off._ "For future reference, Detective," he begins softly, raising a hand to brush a lock of her hair out of her eyes, "my safe word is _blue_." Her blood goes hot and cold all at once when his callouses brush the soft skin behind her ear. The boys let out a soft whistle behind her.

She snaps, twisting his thumb as far back as it can go and then some, giving him a smirk of her own when he winces in pain. "Won't be needing it, _asshole_ ," she snarls, shoving him away from her and walking to the parking lot.

* * *

She waits until after he's gone to pull up Tamara's murder board. Her mother's murder case is something she's been working on for three years and yet, she never seems to get any closer to finding anything despite all the newspaper clippings and files and notes she collected. She sighs, clutching the wedding ring she wears around her neck. _One of these days…_

* * *

To say Percy Jackson is _interested_ in Detective Annabeth Chase of the Twelfth Precinct, is to utter the understatement of the _century_ , a fact both of her partners understand very clearly, as they watch Percy smirk long after Annabeth shoves him away,

They turn to look at each other with wide eyes as if to say _this'll be interesting_ , and they'd be right.

* * *

notes: firstly, in regards to the rick riordan reference: see what I did there? (wink wink nudge nudge). also that turned out a bit darker than intended, as most of my work usually does, but que sera sera, c'est la vie. enjoy, and please please please please _**read and review.**_

 **[EDIT; 8/29] here's the third! as I said before, please review again because it genuinely matters.**


	4. there's a beast under your bed

The financials keep Jackson occupied for the next week, and Annabeth gets sidelined by other cases, so she doesn't see him until he finds her in the break room three days later (even though she's been avoiding him) while she tries to finish her espresso and get the hell out of there.

He doesn't announce himself when he comes in, so she almost spills coffee all over his broad chest, but he doesn't look like he minds. Instead, he smirks. _Again_.

She sighs, stepping back and gripping her coffee protectively. "What do you want?" she says, vitriolically, tucking a lock of hair behind her ears and frowning when his eyes follow the movement. He stays silent. "Well?" she snaps.

"I would like to apologize. For last week," he says, leaning closer.

"Apology not accepted. Goodbye," she says shortly, trying to elbow her way past him.

He plays at blocking her exit for a while before looking down at her with a sigh, then walking away to go bother Nico and Grover. She frowns, looking down at her coffee, before rolling her eyes and walking back to the murder board, figuring that was one of his many…quirks.

* * *

The moment in the break room seems to affect all of their interactions for the rest of the day. He won't even look at her, and he seems reluctant to even come within a foot of her, scurrying away to hide behind the boys on the rare occasion that he does.

Nico and Grover pick up on this, giving her raised eyebrows as Jackson mutters an excuse and beelines to the bathroom for the _fourth_ time that day. She raises an eyebrow at them instead of answering them and turns back to the murder board, when Jackson comes up behind her. "Her father's sick," he proclaims.

She turns around, and nearly falls into his chest. "How do you know?"

He shrugs. "I just do. Maybe I'm psychic! Wouldn't that be cool," he says, his eyes lighting up. "Come on let's go interrogate him!"

She grabs his nose and he tries to turn in her hold, a litany of "ow's" spilling from his mouth. "How did you know?" she repeats.

"It's the pictures of him. In his DMV photo he looks healthy but in his latest photo in the paper, his hair's graying, he's thinner, and he leans on his friend's arm a little bit. Can we go interrogate him now?" he whines, still trying to pull his nose out of her grasp.

She rolls her eyes, giving him a disapproving look that he completely ignores as he gives her a wink on his way to the elevator and when they walk out of the precinct, its business as usual. (But even if it wasn't, she wouldn't care. Right?)

* * *

When they get up to Smith's office, Jackson is the first to speak, despite the speech Annabeth gave him on their way up. "You're sick, aren't you," he says, as Annabeth mentally face-palms. "How long do you have?"

Smith looks stunned, touches a lock of grey hair, and picks a cane up from where it sits on the desk. "Six months. How did you know?"

"That's irrelevant, sir," she says in an authoritative tone she's perfected over the years, giving Jackson a look out of the corner of her eye. "Tamara was going to get the family fortune, wasn't she?"

"Yes. She was to split it with my son, Lance."

"We'll need his contact information," Annabeth says pulling out her notepad. Jackson takes a selfie.

* * *

Jackson bounces out of the building and she wonders warily if maybe he had a little too much coffee in the morning. "Jackson," she says, sharply.

"Hey! You want a hotdog? I want a hotdog. Let's go get hotdogs!"

She grabs his arm. "What is going on with you today? You're like a nine-year old on a sugar rush!"

He tilts his head. "I've been told I live in a perpetual state of hyperactivity. It's why Richard Castle and I make such good friends. I'm gonna get a hotdog now if that's okay with you," he says, raising a challenging eyebrow and spinning around to make small talk with the vendor.

She gives up, rolling her eyes. "Get me one too."

The look Jackson gives her when he takes her order is _infuriating_.

* * *

The next week, Jackson pulls a stunt at another interview with the victim's estranged mother, and she has to bite her lip to prevent herself from screaming. The interview starts normally. She gives him a five minute lecture about the definition of the word _observe,_ that he proceeds to ignore. He takes his seat and tries to put his boots on the table so he can look _cool_.

And then, he accuses her of murder and it goes downhill from there.

* * *

Annabeth is so wound up by the time they exit the interrogation room, Percy's surprised she doesn't go off as soon as they get out of the box. Instead she waits until she's taken a deep breath, and pulled him into an alcove. "How many times do I have to tell you _not to interfere with the interrogation_?"

He blinks. She's never _this_ put off by his antics. "I was just-"

"You were supposed to be observing!" she yells. She's pacing now. "You're a damn writer, for Zeus' sake! You're not even supposed to _be_ here! We gave you boundaries and rules, and still you've done this _every day_ since we let you shadow us!" she says, shooting him a heated look. Nico and Grover have popped up at the end of the hallway to watch.

"I wanted to contribute," he says softly, and he tries to will her to believe that he means it, this time.

"Yeah, well. This is the last time that's happening. I can't deal with this anymore," she says, looking up at him, and he thinks he sees…an apology in her expression, but then she blinks and turns away and it's gone.

He doesn't need her to tell him that he's been fired from a job that wasn't even his, so he swallows, nods absentmindedly.

"Good," she breathes. "Thank you." And she turns on her heel, and stalks away.

He doesn't see her wipe away a tear as she sits at her desk.

* * *

Annabeth doesn't know why she feels this awful. She really shouldn't anyway. He was an infuriating prick and she'll be glad to see him gone. She's fine. She gets a call a few seconds later, from a friend who works at the local prison. "Hey, Annabeth."

"Hey! Everything good?"

Jason sighs. "You know that guy you picked up in relation to your mom's case?"

"Dowell, yeah."

"He um…he's dead."

Annabeth inhales shakily. "Oh."

"One of the other inmates slit his throat with a knife they got from outside. I'm sorry," Jason says nervously.

"Yeah, well. There's nothing you could have done. Thank you for telling me." She hangs up before Jason can start apologizing again and puts her head in her hands, swiping all of the paperwork she has into a drawer. "Dammit," she mutters.

* * *

"Hey, we got something!" Nico says a couple days later, rolling over in his favorite chair.

"Yeah?" Annabeth says, pulling out the file from underneath all of her other backlogged cases.

Nico hands her a picture. "You remember what Rachel said about the killer."

Annabeth raises her eyebrow. "No, because I wasn't there and if I remember correctly, you tow made a big fuss about that didn't you?" she says, leaning back in her own chair and pointing an accusatory finger at them.

Grover scoffs nervously from beside Nico. "Well, yeah but that was because she's your friend and we really don't understand how girls think-"

"Ahem," Nico cuts in jabbing an elbow into Grover's side. "Rachel said that the killer was probably…" He makes draws a circle in the air next this air. "And we did a search. Well actually, Tori did the search and we came up with this dude." Nico taps the picture.

"Nice work boys," she says ruffling Nico's hair just because she knows how much it annoys him. "You need a haircut by the way!"

* * *

Percy comes back to the Precinct a couple days later, with a signed copy of his latest book in a pretty gray box the color of her eyes. He even gets his mom to wrap it, because he knows if he had tried, it would have ended up looking like one of his third-grade art projects.

She's at her desk, massaging her forehead and staring at an always growing pile of paperwork. He walks up cautiously. "Detective," he begins.

Annabeth stands up almost immediately. "No, I will not let you come back, Brunner's agreed-"

He cuts her off with a smile. "I know. I didn't come for that, I wanted to give you this." He holds out the box, his smile growing wider at the suspicious glare she gives him. "No tricks, I promise. I signed it for you. I know you're a fan, but you can deny that if you want."

She opens her mouth, then closes it again, looking down at the box. "Thanks," she says finally.

The tiny smile she gives him almost takes the breath out of him, and suddenly it is undeniable how much he cares. He knows it's unreasonable. He wasn't even here for a whole month, and she was reprimanding him or avoiding him depending on the day, but he _cares_ now. He doesn't know how to feel about that. Instead he steps forward and presses his lips to her cheek.

She jerks back almost immediately, reaching for the ring around her neck, but that doesn't matter to him. He gives her a smirk to avoid the damn _butterflies_ in his chest, because he hates clichés but aren't they a perfect imitation now? She looks down. "Thank you. For the book," she offers.

He doesn't say anything, suddenly aware of how painfully awkward this is, and instead he walks off, clutching the papers he nicked a little tighter, moving them under his jacket when he turns around.

He ignores the warmth he feels, ignores the way he can still feel her cheek under his lips.

* * *

She touches her cheek a little scaredly when he's gone and she feels as if she's dreamed the whole thing. She opens the box carefully, waiting for something to pop out and hit her in the face, and instead, there's a book, just like he said there would be. She puts the box down with a little laugh and gingerly picks up the book, flipping to the dedication, and lo and behold, a signature.

She smiles, clutching the book to her chest like she used to when she was smaller, more naïve and carefree. And then she looks at the file on her desk, noticing that it looks a little sparser than it did. She narrows her eyes. "He wouldn't," she says, flipping it open, and…the photographs are missing.

"Idiot," she snarls, flagging down Nico as she grabs her badge and gun.

* * *

The _second_ time the cop finds him, he's typing away on his laptop, having already finished a page, and looking over at the crime scene photos as he does so, trying to connect the differences. She takes down the apartment door, and busts a hinge on the door to his study, but he doesn't mind at all.

"I can explain, you got the wrong species of flower-"

"Save it," Annabeth says, pulling him out of his chair.

His mother gives him a look as Annabeth wrenches his arm behind his back and twists and _damn_ that _hurts_. He gives her a grin and a thumbs-up in response, as she shakes her head fondly.

Annabeth slaps the cuffs on his viciously. "Perseus Jackson, you are under arrest for obstruction of justice," she says, triumphantly.

His mother rolls her eyes as they walk him out. "I'll meet you at the station," she calls. He gives Tyson a tiny wave.

* * *

Jackson gets bailed out an hour later. His mother greets him with a look that completely contradicts her no-nonsense posture. "Mother," he says, affecting a British accent. "How absolutely delightful to see you!"

"Son. At this point, it would be futile to reprimand you."

"It's good to see you've learned from your years," he says cheekily.

She rolls her eyes, albeit fondly, and turns to Brunner. "I'd promise he won't be around here anymore, but my son is a bit of a…free spirit."

On his way, he turns to her. "The flowers are wrong, Detective."

" _Leave_ ," she bites out. He obliges, raising his hands, as if to say _I surrender_.

* * *

When he leaves, Annabeth looks at the crime scene photos again, checking the flowers against his book. Nico comes up behind her grinning knowingly. "Jackson finally get to you, 'Beth?"

"Don't call me that," she says distractedly. "He's right, for once. This is the wrong species of rose. You can rule out that crazy guy on the suspect list. He would have paid way more attention to detail."

"Who else could it be, then?" Grover says, appearing on the other side of her, the angel to Nico's devil.

She thinks a minute, before cursing. "Tamara. The family fortune. We've been looking at this all wrong. We need to talk to the dad you two go sit on the brother."

The boys blink simultaneously. "You just said a bunch of words out of context," Grover says. "You sure you're okay?"

She shoves them lightly and holsters her gun. "Just go!"

* * *

He isn't surprised to see the detective at Halycon Inc., really. (CORRECTION: he isn't _that_ surprised to see her.) But he knew she's figure it out, eventually.

"I'm here to see Mr. Smith," he says, peering at the receptionist over his shades.

"NYPD, for Mr. Smith," Annabeth says simultaneously. She glares at him, before smiling sweetly, and pressing the down button for the elevators.

"This is not what it looks like." He frowns. "This is exactly what it looks like, actually."

The elevator doors open with a soft _ding_. The detective smirks. "You coming, Jackson?"

He looks between the receptionist and Annabeth, before scurrying into the elevators.

* * *

notes: unless y'all want more, there'll be one more chapter of this fic. i didn't get to do as many things with this fic as I would've liked, but for the first time _ever,_ I'm close to finishing a multi-chap fic, so _yay!_ enjoy and enjoy and PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!

[edit 8/30] please tell me what i can do better, because y'all should know by now that i love to hear it.


	5. what if the devils are here?

Lance Smith decides to wait until after the interview with his father to start shredding papers and destroying evidence. Of course, he doesn't notice the detectives outside his office, but then most first time murderers don't either. Jackson puzzles the whole thing out in the car. "The staging was a distraction! He wanted you to think that this was about _me_ not about Tamara."

"You think?" she says sarcastically, running into the building.

"Wait!" he says, "What about me?"

"Oh right! You need a gun, if you're going in there," she says stepping back towards the car a little bit. "There should be one in the glove box."

He nods. "Right," he says, leaning down and putting his hand on the handle on the roof of the car as he leans down. He's just turning to tell her he can't find them, when she cuffs him to the handle.

"You can't go anywhere now, can you!" she says mockingly, before locking him inside and running off to apprehend Smith.

He sighs. "Dammit. He tries to reach for the pin he keeps in his pocket for emergencies like this one, and instead he knocks it to the ground. He curses again toeing off his shoes and reaching for the pin with his foot. He knocks it away again. He tries for another minute, before he finally grabs hit with his big toe and carefully tries lifting it up to his hand like a damn monkey.

He finally un-cuffs himself using the cup rest and his tongue, then breaks the window to get out of the car, running barefoot to the door, when he sees Smith trying to go out the back, and grins, thinking, _here's my chance_ , and climbing over the metal gate. He regrets that once he drops to the ground.

"Smith! I know you're out here!" he doesn't get an answer. "Maybe inside," he mutters, going for the door, before he's caught in a headlock, by Smith. He gulps, yelling, "DETECTIVE!"

He starts to see little black spots, before Smith loosens his hold. "Wait a minute," he says. "Aren't you the writer? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Long story," he begins, nervously. He opens his mouth to try and distract him, when Annabeth breaks through the gate, and all of a sudden, the guy's grip around his neck becomes so tight he can't breathe. He gags, reaching for the metal pipe he can see out of the corner of his eye, and as Annabeth threatens him, he swings, hitting the poor guy in the head twice, before Smith finally goes down, taking Percy with him.

He pops back up almost immediately. "You saw that, right detective? Tell me you saw that!"

She looks at him incredulously, before scoffing.

"What?" he says.

"You're an _idiot_." She throws his shoe at him.

* * *

More cops flood the scene ten minutes later, a fact Jackson just cannot help but comment on. "How do you get anything done, when their timing is so atrocious?" he questions, tilting his head.

She tries to find a comeback, and when she doesn't find anything, she settles for a defense mechanism called _exasperation_. "Just drink your damn coffee and leave, please. I don't need anything more from you."

"Okay. Do you _want_ anything from me?" he asks, suggestively. She doesn't deign to answer. "Trying to get rid of me so soon, Detective?" he says, leaning towards her. Annabeth scoffs, and turns around, heading towards Brunner to figure out how they're going to spin this for the press. He catches her arm, spinning her around like they're on Dancing with the Stars.

She groans. She can already tell he's up to something. "What do you _want_? No games; I'm _really_ not in the mood."

"Well, let's see," he says, stroking an imaginary goatee. "I am in a van of paramedics being tended to for a wound that you could slap a Band-Aid over, surrounded by sharp objects and lots and lots of _your_ evidence. I _need_ you," he says, taking her hands and folding them between his, with a pleading look on his face and she wonders how he ever lost his divorce settlement. She feels like she's having an out-of-body experience.

She shakes his hands off, and scoffs. "What on Earth could you need me for? I just saved your life. I want nothing else to do with you."

"You didn't-" she snorts and starts to walk away "-but that isn't the point," he says loudly. "You are my impulse control, right now. I need you to distract me so I don't stab something with this scalpel." And then, lo and behold, he proceeds to pull out a scalpel.

Annabeth stares for a minute and then turns to him with a wary expression. "Give me one reason not to taze you."

"Um…bad press?" he says, hopefully. She smiles a little, shaking her head.

He stands up. "It would be fun. Working with you again, I mean."

She tips her head back and laughs, and the she stands up on her tiptoes, leaning forward until her mouth is next to his ear. He's so distracting that she almost forgets what she was going to say. "You have no idea," she whispers, before stepping back and walking away, tossing a wave and a devilish smirk over her shoulder.

* * *

For once, Percy is _speechless_. He's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, and this is where he comes up with his next book. Later, when he recounts his relationship with the detective, he will state that this is when they feel in love.

He grins. Then he calls the mayor. His old friend replies as soon as his phone starts to ring. "Percy! What can I do for you?"

"I need you to get me back on the team with Chase."

"You know I can't do that without _reasons_ ," he says, and Percy can almost _see_ him raising an eyebrow.

"Just tell them it's for research," he says exasperatedly. "It worked before."

"That was a month ago, Percy. Why do you really want it?"

"The detective…I don't know," he says, pausing so he doesn't utter total gibberish. He takes a deep breath, collects himself and tries to salvage the attempt by saying, "She's _interesting_."

The mayor scoffs. "A _girl_ , Percy? You remember how it turned out with Rachel, right?"

"I know, I know but it's different this time."

"That's what you said last time."

"Well, yes, but, in this case, the girl is a _detective_. If something goes wrong, she'll be the first to end it. That has to count for something!"

His friend sighs. "I'll do it."

Percy grins. "Excellent."

* * *

The next morning, Annabeth is walking down to the basement, when she swear she sees Jackson again. She figures he must be a figment of her imagination, as she puts away the boxes, and she mentally shakes herself because _get it together for Zeus' sake_.

She hears Jackson long before she sees him, and that is how she finds out that he is, in fact, real. She also runs into him. In the literal sense. "Detective!" he cries, when they've stepped away from each other and sorted everything out. He tries to lean in for a hug too, but she steps back quickly and alsmot falls back down the staircase. "Just the person I was looking to see," he says, unaffectedly.

Annabeth scowls. (If looks could kill he would have been dead the day he stepped in her precinct, but he knows that, and that's why she can't figure out why he keeps coming back). When she grabs his arm, and steers him toward the door, he isn't perturbed at all, even though she's bruising him. She almost makes it too, before Brunner stops her.

"What are you doing, Detective?"

"Getting this idiot out of the precinct," she says shortly. "I can't have him interfering with our new case."

"Well, that simply won't be possible. You see, you have to work with this _idiot,_ I believe was the term you used. He's going to be doing quite a bit of _interfering_ ," he says with this knowing look in his eyes that drives her _insane_.

Annabeth lets go, and steps away, placing a hand on her gun."On what grounds?" she asks, indignantly. She doesn't like the way this conversation is going.

"The mayor's," Brunner says, with an apologetic shrug.

"For how long?" she says warily, glaring at them through narrowed eyes.

"That, Detective, is up to me," Jackson says stepping forward with a smug grin. She girts her teeth and stomps away. "She's quite something, isn't she?" she hears Jackson say faintly.

(She ends up paying fifty dollars to the department as restitution for all the coffee cups she smashes. Needless to say, she has a very bad day).

* * *

notes: and here we are, folks- the end of my first mutlichap fic! if you all would like an epilouge or a companion fic, please let me know, and also please let me know what you though about this fic in general!

i do regret that it is so short, but i wanted to keep it simple for the time being. i'm sure i'll decide to do a little editing and rewriting later on, and therefore make this ic longer, but here it is for now...enjoy! and please, as aforementioned, do review! writers live for that...well that and obviously writing, but you know what i mean, i think.

[edit 8/29] ok so here's the tail end of the aforementioned revamp. enjoy, and review please! i know i sound redundant but that's 'cause the fandom as a whole generally tends to opt out of reviews. to those of y'all who make the effort, thank you so very much!


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